


Red Doom

by silverstardust



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Culling, Declawing, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentioned Murder, Mentioned Mutilation, Pomegranates, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub, beforus culling is brutal, feet binding, hes got issues, kankri decides to condemn his entire town, kankri is extra, teeth filing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-09-10
Packaged: 2018-12-26 07:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverstardust/pseuds/silverstardust
Summary: Are you willing to put them all to death?You roll the glowing pomegranate between your palms as you muse.





	Red Doom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vanta22exual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanta22exual/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Red Warnings](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847969) by [Vanta22exual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vanta22exual/pseuds/Vanta22exual). 



The moon is setting. But even as the bright red moon sets, the red glow of the gateway behind you does not change. You clutch the blanket around you tighter around your shoulders. It’s been a long night, and no other troll besides you should be awake at this hour now, not with the burning sun about to rise.

 

 

Your throat is parched, and moisture drips onto your face, startling you out of your thoughts. You tilt your head back and open your mouth. Her freezing indigo blood drips from her severed, hanging limbs and into your awaiting mouth. It’s disgustingly thick, freezing to your burning warmth, and bitter to the taste. You gag but you force yourself to swallow it anyways. There’s no water bottles left from your meager supply. Did you even bring any in the first place…?

 

 

The fortress around is empty, save for you, Her mutilated corpse hanging from the ceiling, and your meager supplies. It was built back in the times shortly after the Great Beforian Civil War, a last testimony to a faceless, bloodless leader. Time has forgotten about him, with all written documents about him burned or in custody of Her Glorious Radiance. Only oral stories, given as whispers in the dark alleys, are all that remain, and even among those, it’s hard to tell which are true. Kurloz insists and swears by his ability to speak that this bloodless troll is your ancestor, given the gift of prophecy by a Chimera.

 

 

(You patiently remind him that mutants can not possibly have ancestors.)

 

 

This fortress was built in his honor by his moirail. It’s full of secrets, hidden passageways, and testimonies, scenes of battle painted on the walls. You have found a couple yourself, by crawling through a few air shafts. That was how you found the ancient book that now resides with all your worldly belongings. (A small bag with a few clothes, and sickle given to you by Latula.)

 

 

You are afraid to read it. You are scared that this leader, who’ve you hailed in secret as a hero, as your idol, will turn out to be just some privileged highblood who never knew what it was like to be culled, who does not know the horror, and the disassociation between what truly is good for you and what your culler thinks is good for you. But you will keep the book for now. You will someday build the courage to read it, to learn who this bloodless troll was.

 

 

The sun is beginning to rise, so you scoot back into the protection of the shaded building, lest you be burnt to a crisp. You leave Her where the sun can still reach Her. She has paid for Her sins, and the sun will burn away all that remains of Her.

 

 

The red gateway is still glowing. It will activate fully when you enter the medium, so that you might enter “Phase One” of the game, and begin the hellish game.

 

 

You gently paw the softly glowing pomegranate you had created, the only free item you could make, which suggested its importance to the game to you.

 

 

According to Porrim, who is your host in this game, meteors will be heading to your city soon. They will be unpreventable.

 

 

You hobble over to your bag and your meager belongings and supplies. Your feet ache in protest and the ribbons are digging into the flesh of your feet. You did not soak them in water earlier, as She instructed you do so they wouldn’t hurt.

 

 

(She also said you shouldn’t eat fatty foods that aren’t good for you. Your stomach churns with rich, junky food. You may become sick later.)

 

 

You ignore the pain, sling the bag over your shoulder, and slowly hobble up one of the curving tower stairs. You have already explored as much of this castle fortress as you could with your aching feet, and you know partway up this tower, there will be a sort of bedroom you can inhabit for now.

 

 

It’s hidden by a false wall. You found a millennia old skeleton with four horns in the corner of the room when you first found it. You’ve since made a grave as respectable looking as you could for them since. (They are the curious mound behind the rose bushes that has popped up recently.)

 

 

A couple furniture items move around as you sit on the bed. Porrim must be looking around, trying to find imps she is convinced are waiting to ambush you at just the right time. She’s warned you multiple times of these enemies, but you’ve never seen even a glimpse of them. You think perhaps the game is taking mercy on your bound feet. And clawless hands.

 

 

You silently look out the window across from you.

 

 

The city is quiet, and soon, they will die under a shower of meteors. The meteors will not discriminate from lowbloods, highbloods, or young grubs. From young cullees, hard working adults, newly matched quadrants who have so much hope for the future.

 

 

Are you willing to put them all to death?

 

 

You roll the glowing pomegranate between your palms as you muse.

 

 

You were kept in a place against your will, in a place that was not, will not ever be considered your home. You were touched where and when you should have not, suffered through ways you should have not. Everything you ever enjoyed- reading, dancing, learning- it had been all taken from you. And when you went looking for help, your hair was ruffled, and you were brought back to Her, and told you simply just weren’t being grateful.

 

 

No one would believe you when you told them She would pap you, pile you, treat you as if you were the same person as Her moirail.

 

 

They turned a blind eye. They did not help you, they called you ungrateful, silly, told you you must listen to Her because your culler knew best.

 

 

They will all suffer to what they did to you.

 

 

You laugh, you crack the glowing pomegranate on your knee and tilt your head back, slurping up the insides greedily.

 

 

They will all burn.

**Author's Note:**

> ((I had so much fun writing this and I thank Vanta22sexual from the bottom of my heart for letting me create spinoff/sequel of their Red Warnings!))


End file.
